Pat Rollins: A good spot for white perch

Tuesday

Mar 1, 2011 at 3:15 AM

When my buddy Mike called to invite me to join him for an evening of white perch fishing on the Big Lake he told me that he stumbled on a good spot while he was out searching for a place to fish for rainbow trout. He said the fishing had been intense. When he used the words white perch and intense in the same sentence, there was no way I was going to pass up the invitation.

"The first time I went there I stayed late," he said. "As soon as the sun went down I got three quick flags and managed to catch two huge white perch.. Before the evening was over, I'd landed 13 monster perch."

He told me that he'd been back two more times and that he's averaged nine big white perch on those trips.

"Did you catch any rainbows?" I asked.

"Nope," he replied with a chuckle. "I never had a flag until the white perch started biting."

By the time I got to the lake, Mike was already on the ice. It took me more than a half hour to drag my sled out to his spot and by the time I reached him, he'd already drilled two holes for me.

"There's about thirty-five feet of water here," he advised. "So, sound bottom and make sure you set your live smelts down about four feet from the bottom."

It was starting to get dark by the time I got both of my tip-ups in the holes. Mike was sitting on a bucket sipping a cup of coffee when I walked over.

"It shouldn't be long now,' he said as he looked out at our traps.

"Was it this dark when you got your first bite?" I asked.

"The traps started popping as soon as it got dark," Mike insisted. "We ought to get a bite any time."

Just then I heard a pop behind us.

"Right on cue," I said as my buddy took off running towards his tip-up.

By the time I reached the hole, he was battling what we hoped was a big perch. After two short runs, my friend slid a 14-inch long white perch onto the ice.

"Get ready," he urged. "The next one's yours."

Within minutes, a tip-up I'd set just a few feet from where I was sitting popped. I could hear the spool spinning as i walked over to the hole. When it stopped, I grabbed the line and when I felt some resistance, I set the hook on my first fish of the evening.

"Does it feel like a good one?" Mike asked.

"It's not a tiny yellow perch, that's for sure," I replied as I threw line onto the ice.

After a short fight, I slid a fat foot long white perch onto the ice. After I dropped the fish in my bucket, I hooked a fresh smelt on and sent the line back down the hole. As i was about to clip the flag in place, the spool began to spin as something grabbed the bait.

I let the fish take the bait and when the spool stopped, I set the hook and managed to catch another white perch.

"Hey Pat, look behind you," Mike said. "Your other flag is up!"

When I turned I heard yet another flag pop.

"Sounds like you got one too," I shouted as I ran over to tend my other flag.

At one point, all four of our tip-ups were laying on the ice. In a 10-minute period Mike and I managed to land seven white perch before they stopped biting long enough for us to bait our hooks and get our tip-ups back in the holes.

"Didn't I tell you it was intense," Mike said with a laugh as he rubbed his hands together to try and warm them.

"That was awesome," I said as I wrapped my hands around a cup of coffee. "I hope they move through like that again.

We wouldn't have to wait long. Before I finished my coffee, one of Mike's flags popped and before he got it back in the hole, I was tending one of my own.

During the next half hour my buddy and I tended numerous flags, managing to land seven more white perch and two giant yellow perch. Then as quickly as it had started, the action shut down for good. We hung in there another hour, but never got another bite.

As we were dragging our sleds back to shore Mike asked me if that was intense enough for me.

"That was a blast," I replied.

"You know that March traditionally offers some of the best white perch fishing of the season," Mike said with a grin. "Can you imagine the fishing getting even better."

I just nodded.

Pat Rollins writes on the outdoors for Foster's Daily Democrat.

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